Artemis Fowl and the Phantom Thief (An Unofficial Book 6 and a Half)
by HunterOfArtemisII
Summary: This story takes place after TTP but before TAC and imagines the reasons for Artemis's Atlantis Complex and the reasons and building of the Ice Cube. Artemis Fowl x OC. Cover image by germanmissiles. Rated T for violence. Short chapters.
1. Chapter 1

Introduction

The idea for this story came from a lack of information. According to Eoin Colfer, Artemis developed Atlantis Complex because of his "dabbling in magic". However, I always thought that was a little bit of a weak explanation. I felt like there had to be something else to it.

The story is set between Time Paradox and Atlantis Complex. I have imagined the reasons for Artemis's madness, as well as the building and reasons for building the Ice Cube. One note before we start - I sort of dislike Hollemis and other shippings, so yes, it's Artemis Fowl x OC. Hope you enjoy.

Chapter 1

Skylar's Video Diary, 27 September

I am not normal. That I know for sure.

I hate it when people start all that rubbish about 'no such thing as normal'. You might not think so. But I am as far from normal as it gets.

I am smart, in the words of my irritating peers from school, even though I gave up on school last year, partly since other kids my age are annoying, and partly it got in my way. I don't need to go there. I am much more intelligent than any of the teachers. I don't need other people. I can manage just fine by myself.

I am not lonely; I'm just alone. My mother died years ago and my father is never around. That's how I like it. The way I see it, talking to myself is the only intelligent conversation I can ever get, because I'm surrounded by idiots, and it's exhausting.

So I stay shut up in my room, with my computers, my cat, Biscotti, and chocolate chip cookies, which I am slightly addicted to.

My name is Skylar Woodley. You have probably heard of me, but if you cross me, you'll wish you never had.

That's what I say. Melodramatic, I know, but what is life if not a show? But unfortunately mine has taken a... well, unfortunate turn.

Father has returned, which would be fine if it did not mean I would be forced to go to a party for one of his associates.

Ugh, parties. I compare them to Marmite. Love them or hate them. I am in the hate camp but I am beginning to think I am alone there.

Ah, well, I'll survive.

Probably.

Skylar Woodley, signing off.

Artemis

"Myles!" I yell down the stairs, examining the damage my little brother has created.

"What?" Myles replies, strolling as casually as anything into the lab.

I glare at him indignantly. "Did you break my laptop?"

Myles looks carefully at the laptop's sticky keys, and corrupted screen. "No." he says seriously, looking me in the eye. "It was prob'ly Beck."

I can tell he was lying, even though most of his body language checks out. His tell is a certain look he gets in his eyes - innocent, almost - and I know Myles only ever looks innocent when he's quite the opposite. It works on our parents, but not me.

"You know Beckett can't even turn that laptop on. He could have conceivable messed up the keys, but that's grape juice, which Beckett hates even the presence of." I reason, since I know Myles won't give up until I prove he did it.

Myles scowls, annoyed at being caught. "Sorry, simple-toon." he says insincerely. "Professor Primate wanted to make a graph."

I sigh. Little does Myles know, but Professor Primate is actually Professor Primate II, since I lost the original while escaping from the pixie Opal Koboi's past self. Just another day in the life of Artemis Fowl II.

"Well, you could've just asked. Also, don't call me simple-toon." I say patronisingly.

"Bye, simple-toon." calls Myles, who has probably not even been listening.

I scowl again, but don't persist. If Myles finds out that that irritates me, he'll never stop. Strange how such an unusual boy could be so normal in terms of sibling rivalry.

Sighing, I turn back to the computer and, producing a cleaner, start cleaning the keys. It will be easy to fix, but the repair will probably take about half an hour. Half an hour I cannot afford to waste, if my new project is to succeed. Fortunately, the project is in a place where Myles can't possibly find it. I hope.

Presently, Butler enters the room. "Artemis." he says.

"Yes, Butler?" I reply absently.

Butler hesitates. "Artemis, don't shoot the messenger but... your mother is going to a friend's birthday party, and she says she'd like you to come."

I stop cleaning the keyboard and spin around in my seat at close to light speed (Not really. It's a hyperbole). "A...what?" I ask, clearly rhetorically. A party? I cannot afford to lose time like this. I'm so surprised I actually facepalm, a juvenile habit I despise.

"Yes," Butler says solemnly, as if he is inviting me to my own funeral. Which it probably will be. I dislike people in general, as a rule, with few exceptions.

"And I suppose I don't have a choice?" I ask.

"Yes. She said she worries that you never socialise."

"Socialise? I like being alone." I spit out, as if the words are poisoned.

"Sorry." Butler says defensively, and leaves hastily before I get any angrier.

This will be such a waste of time, I think. And I can't waste time if I expect to finish my machine any time soon.

I sigh. Nothing to be done about it. I'll have to go.


	2. Chapter 2

**Skylar**

The party is inane and seems rather like those family gatherings you get at Christmas where some distant aunt starts gushing about how much you've grown. Actually, forget inane. It is terrifying.

After the required few minutes my father told me I had to endure of this, I spy the darkest corner of the room and quickly retreat. Craning my neck to look behind me as I walk, I am pleased to discover that nobody seems to have noticed my absence. Perfect! I turn back around just in time to collide with someone.

I'm okay, having managed to keep my balance thanks to my karate training, but the boy I'd bumped into falls backwards. When he puts out a hand to stop himself, he grimaces. Must've done something to his wrist. Yikes.

"I'm sorry, are you alright?" I ask. Please don't sue me, please don't sue me...

"Uh... yes, I'm okay." he says slowly, examining his wrist with a medical meticulousness, before looking up to say, "I'll be fine."

Since it's my fault that he fell over anyway, I offer him my hand. After a second he takes it with his good hand and I pull him up.

My first impression is that he is rather strange, to say the least. He wears a black jumper with a red tie, and looks a bit like he is wearing school uniform. However, he seems to radiate some kind of aura, saying 'Don't cross me.' This is the boy I have knocked over. He is slightly shorter than me. His raven hair is slightly messed up now and he has a pale face, like me. But probably the strangest thing is his eyes. He has one icy blue eye and one warmer hazel eye. I'd never seen someone like that before. I hadn't even been previously quite sure it was possible.

"Thank you," he says in an Irish accent. But somehow his accent is different from that of all the other people I'd heard since moving to Dublin. There was some sort of strange cadence to it that I couldn't place.

"You're welcome," I reply. I shake the hand I am unwittingly still holding. "I'm Skylar Woodley, and you are?"

"Artemis Fowl II at your service. I assume you were headed for that secluded corner there for the same reason as me." he deducts, gesturing to my destination.

I decide not to ask about his name being traditionally a girl's name, since I can sense he's been asked it many times. "Indeed, you are correct. Parties-" I say, disgusted, not at him, but the word, "- are a waste of time."

"I'll resonate with that," the boy, Artemis, agrees, strolling leisurely away from the rest of the party. "I - we - have better things to do than stand around for a couple of hours."

I lean on the wall a little and smile. "Such as?"

Artemis looks like he is cornered in both ways. I wonder why he chooses this answer so very carefully. "Projects."

"Me too," I say. "Though another reason is that at parties it is unusual for me to have a particularly- "

"- Intelligent conversation." we say improbably simultaneously. The corner of Artemis's mouth twitches and I realize he has not smiled all this time.

"Aha!" I grin mischievously. "I have finally found an equal!"

Artemis raises an eyebrow, a skill I have still not perfected despite years of trying. "Equal?" he inquires skeptically. "I wouldn't be so sure about that."

"Ominous. So, who dragged you here?"

"My parents."

"Me too. Well, you know what they say. Great minds think alike."

"And great minds we are," Artemis replies, a small smile on his face. "Well, I'll see you later."

As the enigmatic boy strolls away, I find myself smiling. Why? I can't tell. I can sense this is the start of something. I don't know quite what yet, but something.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Artemis

The next day I still can't stop thinking about the girl.

Yes, I know, that's such a cliché. But it's not why you think.

After the party that I now considered to be a little more useful than I thought, I did a little web search on Skylar Woodley. Turns out she is who she says she is. Well, she never said it, but that's irrelevant.

'Skylar Woodley,' the search engine informed me, 'is a fourteen-year-old genius. She has won numerous science and mathematics prizes, as well as literature prizes, her most well known being the Cartesan Prize for her novel _Quiet Observations of an Outsider_. Miss Woodley is also the pioneer of an advanced scientific field she discovered, Pychirinian. She is Scottish, and is originally from Aberdeen, but her family have apparently recently moved to somewhere in Ireland. The secrecy surrounding the location is confusing to many journalists. Maybe they just don't want harassed by the paparazzi.'

"Or maybe it's something else..." I had countered aloud, before hacking into the phone I had seen in her hand at the party and synced with. Forward planning.

Her location told me she was somewhere rural outside Dublin, so I hacked into the many computers in the mystery location to find out exactly where she was.

A few seconds later the computer beeped.

The Quinn Estate. Oh no.

Miss Woodley is a Quinn. The Quinns, by the way, are an underground organisation of thieves. And the Fowls hate the Quinns.

But I have been thinking. Maybe we could collaborate. The thing is, I need the Pychirinian. The Project requires it, and it's the one thing I just can't get my head around.

Also, I'd quite some, as she said, "intelligent conversation" on tap when I get frustrated with the dimwits surrounding me.

This Skylar intrigues me, though. Everything she radiates reminds me of my younger self.

I call up a picture of her collecting one of all those prizes, and look at her face again. Pale. Snub nose and a careless slash of a mouth. Grey eyes that seem more like liquid silver than grey. Those features are - were mine, except my eyes were blue. But from there she is completely different.

Her hair, the colour of copper, is long and full of light waves that curl around ears that look like they should be pointy, and she stands straight and has a confident air about her. She isn't particularly tall, or small, or beautiful, or even very remarkable (save her eyes) outwardly. I guess being as clever as us two means you can't look _too_ good, or the world would hate you.

I turn off the computer and think. Is it worth working with her? The Project is top secret. I'm the only one who knows about it. And she's a Quinn too.

Skylar Woodley. Fellow genius. Overall though, would she even want to help me?

A thought occurs to me and I turn on my (non-Myles-destroyed) laptop again and begin to tap out an email. I could just ask her...

Skylar

Beep.

Something in my computer room beeps. I wonder what it could be?

I put down my tablet and chocolate chip cookie (best combination EVER), dislodge Biscotti, who replies with a resentful hiss, and make my way through the computers. Quickly scanning the screens, I discover that someone has sent me an email. I open it.

To- skylarwoodley

From - .2nd

Miss Woodley,

You will probably be slightly surprised that I have this address. Don't be. I have all the addresses, because I own Kina, though not many people know that. But anyway, to the point.

I have been working on a project recently, one that could change the world. That is not a claim to be taken lightly, but it's true. And you should know that it pains me to say this, but I need your help.

You invented Pychirinian, a science that I need to complete this project. But I have my weaknesses, and one is that I can't get my head around that. (And no, I will not tell you any of the other weaknesses. I'm not a complete dimwit.)

So yes, I am asking if you could help me out. To change the world. I have plenty of funds.

Also, persons of less intellect (a.k.a most of the world) annoy me. And it was interesting talking to an equal.

Kind regards

Artemis Fowl II

I stare at the email impassively and consider it. Apparently this project could change the world. And it can't go ahead without me. That puts me in a position of power. I could call up a few favours from the Fowls while I'm about it.

Also, I agree with him about the intelligent conversation.

I grin mischievously and tap out a reply.

To- .2nd

From- skylarwoodley

Okay. I'm in, but I might just have to ask a few favours with this one.

He replies within a few minutes.

Name your price.

I grin again. This is a good position to be in.

I need more equipment and all that jazz. This is dependent on whatever this mystery project is. As well as my consultant fee.

The reply to this one surprises me.

You know, I said that last line exactly one time. That's... slightly creepy. How much do you know about me, Woodley?

Weird, I think, before replying.

Not much. You don't exactly advertise your achievements very much.

Safest way. You have no idea how many people are out to get you once you're famous. Anyway, when are you free?

I think about this one.

Tomorrow would be okay. Noon?

Got it. Can I come to yours? My parents might get a bit... funny.

I laugh aloud. Parents and siblings. They always assume.

Okey doke. I assume you already know where 'mine' is?

Correct. That's how us genii are. See you there.


End file.
